Page 15 of Overexposed

“Not the Scout’s sign,” Olivier said. “But I believe you.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Dillon lay in a crumpled heap. Maybe we should drop him around the corner with the rest of the garbage. “Still, we should probably get you to a hospital.”

“No hospital,” I said with a snap and gripped his arm. “Absolutely not.” Dad’s bills were more than enough. Our insurance barely covered a dental cleaning, much less an emergency room visit. “I’ll be fine. Totally had worse.”

I had no idea when, and I was kind of croaking when I spoke, but fuck it. I surged to my feet and Olivier followed me up. That might have been a mistake on both of our parts. My stomach rolled as the world spun.

“I think I’m going to puke,” I warned him. I wasn’t able to focus on much but he could definitely get out of the way. One minute I was standing, the next he swept me up and got me over to one of the dumpsters. The smell was repugnant, but it decimated what little resistance I had left and I threw up.

Thankfully, it’d been a few hours since I ate, so it was mostly water. But it still hurt like a bitch and burned my throat. The dry heaves that followed sucked even more.

“Easy,” Olivier said, he had the handkerchief up to my mouth and dabbed at it. “All good?”

“Sure, peachy.” I even managed to give him a thumbs-up.

“You need a doctor,” he informed me. “Your pupils are huge.”

“Thank you,” I told him. “I think you’re sexy too.” I patted his chest. “But not tonight.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Right. That’s it, definitely the doctor.”

“No,” I told him and pulled away. “I can take care of myself. No doctors. No emergency rooms. No doc in the boxes. Just…let me take care of me.”

“Lady,” he muttered, “I need to get the fuck out of here, but no way in hell am I letting you just stagger off with a concussion.”

“You can’t go home with me,” I told him. “I don’t take strangers home. Even if you’re technically not a stranger cause I know you…but…you know I think I’m gonna be quiet.”

The more I talked, the worse my throat hurt. Olivier gave me a hard look. “If you pass out, I can just take you to the hospital.”

“Please don’t.”

“Goddammit,” he swore again, then looked over at Dillon before looking back at me. “Too many damn vultures here tonight to argue about this. If you won’t let me take you to the hospital or home, you’re going home with me.”

“Okay.” Then I frowned. “Wait…why do I have to go home with you?” He was talking too fast. He whipped his jacket off and pulled it over my shoulders before he slid an arm under my knees. The ease with which he swept me up sent my head spinning.

“Don’t throw up,” he ordered as he strode away from Dillon and my car. “I can’t fucking believe this.” The last came out a mutter. “Jerry’s gonna fucking kill me. Seven’s gonna kill me. No fucking way am I sticking around for the bottom-feeders to get their shots.”

“Oh.” Right. The other paps. “None out here,” I told him and patted his chest. “I was alone.”

“Good to know no one was around to help you. Anyone ever tell you to not park out back of big hotels?”

“Nope,” I said and then we were suddenly at a car. There was a click of locks and he pulled open the door of the low-slung Jaguar. “Pretty kitty.”

Olivier settled me into the passenger seat as I transferred my petting from him to the seats. The leather was really soft. He snapped a seat belt across my chest, then popped open the glove compartment. A rustle of paper brought me back to the present and he put a bag in my hands.

“Hang on to this. If you need to puke again, throw up into the bag and not the floor.”

“Good plan,” I told him as he closed the door and circled the car. Cleaning this car would probably cost a fortune. The engine purred to life. Really sexy kitty. Then he was backing out and we were leaving the hotel, Dillon, and my sweet baby behind.

I’ll be back, I promised my baby mentally. Dillon would surely be found and they could scrape his drunk ass up off the ground. Head against the seat, I closed my eyes. All the headlights were kaleidoscoping or streaking past me.

They hurt my brain.

“You know,” I said. “I probably shouldn’t be driving.”

“You don’t say?” The sarcasm raked against me.

“You’re funny,” I said. “And cute.”

“I thought I was sexy?” The teasing growl made me laugh. Oh, that fucking hurt. No more laughing. I put a hand up to my head.

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